As I was sitting on my stairs this evening, avoiding homework that desperately needed to be done, I found myself staring blankly at the wall. It was then that I realized just how beat up and worn this wall actually was. There is a huge water spot near the top, from when the snow melted a number of years ago and flooded down the wall and into our basement. There are numerous large cracks in the foundation, testifying the age of this old house. The rather large hole in the drywall was caused by a box-spring falling down the stairs, and the evident patch jobs hiding other similar holes. All of these things, while flaws to any potential buyer (not that we are planning to sell this house), are what make this house my home.
I have lived the vast majority of my life in this house. Every little knick, hole, or dent being a testimony of the lives lived here. There are memories in these hallways and on the staircase where I was sitting when I took these pictures. Some days I would lay, precariously balanced, on the railing just to send that bit of adrenaline through my body; other days I would sit on the stairs and peer between the bars to watch whatever my mom was watching in the kitchen, because I was too lazy to walk down the last 5 stairs. Even to this day I occasionally have small panic attacks and compulsively run up the stairs, remembering the times my dad would chase me up the stairs as a child before bedtime. I am one of the fortunate few who have been able to stay in the same home for over 20 years. While yes, it might be nice to change the scenery and make new memories in other places, I am glad for the time I have had here and for the love, laughter, and tears that my family has shared in each room of this home.